Blood, Tears and Lavender Petals
by Absol Master
Summary: Scarlet, crystal, mauve. Ever so suddenly, innocence can turn into spite. A soul can be shattered by words, a lifetime destroyed by rejection. But a simple act of mercy can heal it all. For CrapPishh's FF challenge.


I know, loads of people out there have been complaining to ME that the Maple fandom is dying. Hey, why me? Anyway, to all my _adoring fans (hahaha), _I present…something_._

The old entry was scrapped. This the REAL entry to CrapPishh's fanfic challenge. It might be for a fanfic challenge, but I do not guarantee quality. Apologies for the length...

* * *

**Ъſооδ, ţєάrѕ aηd ſάvєиδєr Þєтάſs**

_a change, which changed all, except one thing._

How the times have changed.

I lie in my old bed, slumped against a pillow, cradling a bouquet sorrowfully in my hands. Just a pitiful, useless heap. Crippled, unable to move either of my legs, unable to forgive my stupidity. Why? The reason leaves my blood burning. Heaven chose to curse me, to wrench the gift of mobility away from me, without asking.

But who am I to think that? Heaven doesn't ask when it chooses to reclaim one of its gifts. What we have can vanish so quickly, without any foreboding or warning—just completely disappear from your life, like that, leaving a gaping hole where that valued item or _thing_ once was.

Oh, I _know _what it's like for that to happen.

The gentle golden sunlight streams brightly through the space between the curtains, from within the cloudy terraces above. The rays of light are like liquid streams that pour over the glossy parquet floor, like glitter as they touch the motes of dust in the air, just a small sliver between the folds.

How I wish I could stand to draw the curtains wider! Light is what I need now, and yet I know that I will never hold those curtains again.

I close my eyes, and take in a deep breath. The room is filled with the sweet scent of lavenders, an odour that brings my imagination over roads and fields, to a place that seems so far away that I don't believe it was once my home.

But if course, that's not where it comes from. It comes from this bouquet in my hands. _That _fills me with such contempt. This stupid bunch of droopy flowers, torn out of the earth, and bound tightly with a piece of string.

No, I can't think of that stupid place anymore! Angrily I push the image of my old home out of my mind. No point thinking about it. It is no longer a part of my life. I was cast out, and will forever be unwelcome there.

But how happy I was, when my daughter lived with me—I had joy and love, everything I needed! My life was perfect then. But look how much things have changed—look at my hapless body lying motionless in this bed, useless tears in my eyes, and you will know how much things have changed for me.

And now I'm reliving the past for the hundredth time today. Every image is so clear, but I wish it weren't! It was like living in heaven then. So different from now, I don't believe the two times exist in the same world, in the same decade. The change brings tears of loss to my eyes.

This is not a hard question, one which I now ask, one which you probably think you can answer: How much can change, in a mere seven years?

Would your answer be "nothing"?

* * *

I am transported instantaneously back to that day, seven years ago. That morning, I stood by the window, arm rested on the windowsill, watching the stalks of lavender sway in the wind. The most beautiful flowers in Mu Lung, they grew in a vast field that stretched from the door of our little house to the end of the mauve-and-viridian plain, touching the celestial blue horizon of morning.

It all looked so perfect—too much so, it seemed.

My mind wandered carelessly over to thoughts of my daughter. Lira had gone to the orchards to pick fruits. She would probably be back in half an hour—

I suddenly felt something prod my mind, bringing Lira's face prominently to the front of my thoughts. Then the taste of blood filled my mouth, salty and strong. Instantly, the peace was broken, and I found myself glancing out the window, heartbeat surging.

It was a warning. It always happened, for I was a Bishop—this feeling always warned me when something bad had happened to Lira. She was in danger.

My footsteps carried me out of the house, and I awaited a sign as to what had happened. Almost instantly, a scream reached my ears, ringing like a siren in the air.

"Mum!" her cry was shrill, full of suffering and hoarse with tears. "Help me! It hurts so much!"

Lira came, racing through the stalks of lavenders, pale cheeks glittering with tears, her right hand clamped on her left wrist, face screwed up in pain—every step growing slower, more shaky, every moment seeming to cut her energy away.

My eyes widened, my heart pierced with terror that made me gasp. Blood, gushing from her left wrist in long bright streaks, smudged across her right hand and all over her silken sleeves, down her dress. Her strength was dwindling, her brow creased, eyes dimming…

Then she collapsed and cried out in horror, wails of pain cutting my heart deep again. I breathed, and a cry tore itself from my mouth, ran fast as I could help, knelt down, took her left hand. Lira loosed a full-throated scream as it entered my grip. I had never seen her in such pain before…

"Don't worry, it'll be fine," I whispered urgently, heart still thumping in my ears. I bit my lip. There were bite marks, deep enough to leave her white bone exposed at the joint, pale white in the midst of deep red. The broken skin was spilling blood onto the grass in steady rivulets, pooling on the lavenders' leaves like a red shadow.

"Don't worry, Lira," I repeated, dizzy, reaching for my pocket. I didn't believe my own assurance. Seconds were flying past. I could hear her hard, ragged breaths as I dug my Phoenix Wand from my pocket and touched the bloodied wound with its bright vermilion, sending warm, green healing magic into it. Her face was ashen; her breaths shaking as if in extreme cold, about to fade into death.

She was so pale, dying. I sent more mana into my spell; I let it rush out like a river. Anything, anything for her to stay alive!

Lira's panicked breathing slowed, still irregular, and she sat up. My stream of healing ended; my heartbeat was booming deafeningly in my head, everything spinning around me. _Lira, hang on… _Then she gasped out her thanks, restraining tears. Instantly, she had me in her tight embrace, sobbing with joy into my shirt. The blood still covered her clothes, but she didn't seem to care. And neither did I.

I returned the embrace passionately, hands still sticky with her blood. She didn't stop thanking me as her body shook, pressed against mine. How glad I felt, just to be holding her, there and then! I had been so close to losing her forever… Breathing in hard, I smiled and pulled her even closer.

"Mum will keep you safe, Lira," I couldn't help whispering over her head. "I'll always keep you safe. I promise, you don't have to worry now, dear. I seal it with the Goddess' symbol." Our way of saying it was a promise we would never break, a seal that would weather everything.

She smiled up at me, eyes still wet, but smiling, and I felt as if I might hold her there forever.

* * *

Lira was only nine then. I thought that she would always be like that, that she would always love me and need me. And I had probably heard too many stories about perfect, idealistic families that never fell apart.

I laugh bitterly at my idiocy. As _if _it would remain.

She changed. She forgot all the help I had ever given her in her life. She forgot all the times I had saved her. She drifted from me, grew colder and more independent. Then she stopped wanting my company altogether.

And as she grew, so did the pain she brought. She found fault with everything I did. She didn't want my care anymore. I reached out; she stepped back further, recoiling in disgust. She just threw it all back—my words, my pleas, _everything._

It hurt so much, and yet I clung to that old mentality—that it was I who had to make my daughter happy. I kept up my fruitless efforts, weathered every scourging word she uttered, believed that the battle would be won eventually.

Again, I wonder: How much can change in seven years?

"Nothing" was my answer, seven years ago. How wrong I was.

* * *

It was that single day, when everything fell apart.

Lira slapped my hand away as I reached out to help her with her sprained ankle. "I'm not a kid anymore, Ayra," she snapped, shifting her body away from me. "I don't need your _healing_."

The way she had called me by my first name stung. She knew that I didn't like it; there was contempt and smugness in her eyes. Gritting my teeth, I resolved not to give her the satisfaction.

Lira had already refused my healing repeatedly. I watched as she winced each time her fingers touched a tender spot, wishing that she didn't have to take that pain, wishing that she would simply stop being so bull-headed and _listen! _She needed me. She couldn't keep denying it.

"Lira, I'm telling you! If you don't want it to hurt, you need my healing! Don't you remember how I saved your life that day?"

Lira flinched at the reminder. "Why would I need _that_?" She glared at me as if I were a monster she was about to kill. "My friends don't have Bishop parents. They heal the_ normal _way. Do I? No! You treat me like such a baby, Ayra. Leave me alone, alright?"

"You're not one of your friends," I replied with controlled breaths. "And I'm your mother. I know what's good for you!" Irritation was rising in my chest, but I brushed it aside. "Come on, Lira," I said softly, taking my staff. She took a step backwards. Her face was livid.

If only Laderus were here—he, Lira's father, would know what to do. He would know how to bring her back. But he wasn't here to help… Not any more.

"We can reason this out," I called desperately, looking Lira in the eye. "I love you, Lira. That's why I want to help you."

And that did it for her. Something seemed to snap in the air, like a bowstring strained beyond its limit, before she hissed her next words.

"Give your love to someone _else_," she screeched, voice cutting like a razor. Her eyes narrowed as she continued to spit each syllable in my face. "I've told you, _times have changed. _I'm no longer that little kid who needed her mother to help with everything! I've grown up. Don't you get it yet? You're just a huge burden on my life!"

Her last words were still ringing in my ears; my head spun with her words. _Give your love to someone else. I'm no longer that little kid—Just a huge burden—_

They drew tears, as a blade would draw blood. It hurt, but I forcefully reined my rage, with that very last ounce of tolerance.

"Oh, go cry to dear _Laderus,_" Lira added, eyes smiling and scornful, words poisonous as snake venom. "Still miss him? Well, too bad! He can't help you now, he's _dead_—"

Standing, I breathed in and out deeply. No, I couldn't hold it all anymore. All her words, all the pain she was inflicting on me—it was unbearable. I felt like a volcano that had been withstanding an eruption for centuries, and I knew I couldn't take another word. Not _one_.

I had to let it out.

"_SHUT UP__! Shut up, Lira_!"

An old wound had suddenly been torn open by a claw, my emotions bleeding freely now—it hurt that much. She had insulted me and dishonoured my dead husband, done it all with a sickening smile. And that was the moment that my anger finally gained control.

Rays of burning light thundered from the sky and exploded upon the ground at my command. She dodged it. All the same, I stepped forward and slapped her repeatedly on the face, screaming my hate at her with every hit. She didn't make a sound—that only made me angrier. "_Don't you ever say that again,"_ my voice was a horrible screech. Again and again, I slapped her, till her face was covered in red marks.

Then her wide eyes narrowed, and she screamed, snatching up her axe from the table, left hand on her face.

"DO YOU _REALLY _STILL LOVE ME?"

I felt like the world was tearing open as the weapon's handle suddenly connected with my face, splitting my lip, filling my mouth with the taste of metal. Lira showed no distress, I vaguely saw as the world was flashing and whirling with psychedelic colours, thunderbolts of pain ripping through my face.

"Get out of here," she leered, panting like a rabid animal, as I staggered and stumbled towards the door—still shaking, still stunned at what had just been exchanged. My heart was pounding without meaning, making me dizzy.

Not another word was spoken. I stepped past the doorframe. The door slammed shut behind me just as the evening wind caught me in its arms, the smell of the lavenders drifting up to encompass me. Now that scent was full of scorn, a heartless reminder of how things had been before. Where had she gone? This _couldn't_ be Lira!

I stepped a little way back from the door, staring at it, hoping that it would open, and that Lira would appear at the doorway with remorse in her eyes. It was fruitless.

I decided not to wait any longer. With a little of my magic, the pain on my face died down, and the wound healed over. But it did nothing to mend the pain that now expanded in my heart like malignance.

I was alone. Trying to gather up the fragments of my shattered soul in the desolately singing wind, I turned, shivering, to face the lavender field swathed in every evening light, wondering how all those beautiful days could have vanished so fast.

* * *

From then, I lived in the old house that once belonged to my deceased parents. I hunted monsters for mesos, earning only enough to buy myself two meals.

Things changed so fast that I am still in shock—here in the present, seven years down the road.

It is such a simple question. My answer has since changed. And I answer it, with anger, hurt, burning regret.

How much can change in seven years?

_Everything._ Everything that might mean anything to you. Your love, your happiness, your security and comfort. One moment, you might be smiling and contented, with all you need. And the next, you'll be walking the dark broken streets alone, no one by your side.

In seven years, it can all be taken away.

I still remember, of course. Lira was a beautiful, innocent girl, some way far into my deep memory. But she has changed beyond reckoning. And I feel so empty, so inexplicably unhappy—

_I don't understand, _I tell myself. _Why should I be so unhappy that that wretch of a daughter is no longer with me? It's her loss, not mine. Not mine._

Yet it's all a lie. Deep within me, I _do_ know the true reason for my pain. I still long for Lira. The one who once needed my help, who hugged me and thanked me, and accepted my love with joy.

I need her love. Everyone needs the love of someone else—and now, I have no one.

* * *

Lying on my mattress one night, the stars cast their gentle light on the sheets. How could anything be so calm? Now as I recall how silent that night was, I am unable to grasp it. All that happened that night—every flash of movement, every second—still rings in my nerves.

I had had no idea what was to happen that night. All I could think of was where my life was headed. I was so utterly depressed and tired, sick of living, sick of thinking of _anything. _I prayed once again for divine help, pulling myself deeper beneath the sheets and turning to face the empty ceiling. Did I expect an answer from the _divine Goddess? _No. But I prayed anyway.

Then, thatnight alone, Lira's face crossed my vision. And I suddenly felt something tugging hard, urgently, at my mind. Again, a burst of salt in my mouth, so alarming I almost fell out of the bed. My mind's cogs instantly sprang to action, as they had years ago.

Lira is in danger.

It was just a hallucination, I incredulously told myself. She had injured me and cast me out of my home without a second thought. Why should I leave the warmth of my bed just to find her, on some dream's prompting?

But it had never failed me. It had saved Lira countless times. And now, it kept pulling urgently on something in my brain, unrelenting, as if trying to convince me to go.

And so I believed it. I slipped out of my bed, snatched up my Blade Staff from the windowsill, raced through the door, onto the street. _This is the very last time, _I told myself. The motherly fear was rising within my heart—but how could I feel so for her?

The roads were lit ever few feet by a fire lamp, bright orange patches of light painting the dark roadsides all the way down the midnight road.

Why, I kept asking myself as I ran the half-mile down the mountain, through Mu Lung's lamp-lit streets, back to the lavender field. I might only end up feeling stupid, being rejected even more absolutely by my daughter, if I turned up in the middle of the night looking like a madwoman.

But what if it _were _real?

More lamps whizzed past on the roadsides, like streaks of fire. My footsteps rose, fell, and drew me on forward, panic filling my heart in the darkness. The seconds floated by, almost non-existent. The road before me was dark, and the uncertainty was swelling in my heart.

Then I came to the field and saw. It had been right again.

The lavenders were pale and moonlit, glowing pinpoints of light, swaying in a violent wind, calling out with their rustling voices, like hoarse, silent screams. Halfway across the field stood the hunched figure of a monstrous wild animal, fur and claws gleaming brightly by the moonlight, a limp figure at the end of its huge arm.

_"LIRA!"_ It sounded like how I would call her name, years ago. I teleported over the field, the wind stirring the darkness with the sound of a thousand leaves rustling.

She was staring, hardly even breathing, her shirt stained black as midnight by her own lifeblood, a stygian torque, her body hanging a foot from the ground by the bear's razor claws.

It had its claws dug deep in her neck, that huge, ugly bear creature—Tae Roon, the terror of Mu Lung's gardens. My breath caught in my throat as my gaze fell upon her.

I screamed again. The lavenders gave a violent whisper in the gale of midnight. My heartbeat was roaring in my ears. My staff rose. Tae Roon dropped Lira to the grass and turned to face me. Its eyes were empty white, gleaming brightly with hungry, burning malice. There was blood on its teeth, and on the fur around its mouth.

_Lira's blood._

_"GENESIS!"_

White light burst from above Tae Roon. Somehow, it dodged, reaching out to rake my legs with bloodied claws, and I felt like they were suddenly being bathed in an explosion of fire. I fell back, in time to see my own blood spray over the lavenders like black beads, and begin to run down my legs in dark streams.

Tae Roon's eyes and mouth were wide, as it sounded a guttural roar that shook the field and ever stalk of flowers in the moon.

There was a flash of fur, and a crushing punch flew at me. I stumbled back even further, right leg smashed by the attack. My flesh still felt jarred by the strike, the bruise burning like caustic acid. I tried to pull myself to stand, but my leg seemed to tear into two as I strained it. I screamed myself hoarse with pain.

Then I took a glance at the limp, pale body of Lira, and the pain was suddenly meaningless, gone. Tae Roon _wouldn't_ escape, now that the battle had begun. It would not go free, for harming my child. My flesh and blood. My dearest.

When had I suddenly found this capability to love her once more, after what she'd done? That didn't matter to me, not at the moment. It would _so _pay.

Tae Roon was lumbering towards me, its claws spread out before itself, every step it took growing closer, clearer.

Then the moment came where it was directly before me, and close enough.

"ANGEL'S RAY!" The glowing bow and arrow gathered at my staff, despite every ache, despite the numbness that was stealing rapidly over me. The light gathered before me, blindingly bright, growing hard to restrain in my grip. Literally bursting with energy. Then, still barely sitting upright upon the ground, among the leaves, I cried out in anger, let the arrow of light fly free with all the power of my fury.

It struck, and tore the huge, demonic monster's heart on first hit, dug deep like a sword, laced in shining energy. There was a boom that shook my insides, and a burst of light where the projectile hit.

The beast snarled, wheeled and bellowed terrifyingly, clutching at the injury. In moments, it fell, burnt straight through the chest, a deathly circle of black marking its wound. Its last cry still echoed over the leaves, slowly fading into an echo.

Then all was silent, so suddenly. There was no one there but my daughter and I, and the gentle rustle of leaves in the night breezes, beneath the crystal stars. So calm, impossibly calm.

Panting, struggling, drawing up my last energy in the midst of the silence, I dragged myself over the stalks and knelt beside my daughter, heart pumping cold terror through me every other moment, between my spinning thoughts. My arms were still shaking from the battle, and the stench of blood hung in the air, mixed with the sweet lavenders' scent.

Was that her—Lira, the one who had yelled at me and hurt me, who had forced me to leave my own home? She looked so fragile now—almost transient.

"Mum…" Lira's eyes sparkled slightly in the starlight as she opened them. Her hand went, trembling, to her neck, and she shuddered as she felt her open wound. Her arm dropped again to the ground, thudding among the torn leaves. My heart felt sore as I gazed at her mauled body, still unable to believe that it was her. _Her._

I thought for a few seconds, and recalled her hurtful words, her poisonous spite. "You're right, Lira," I whispered hoarsely, unable to mask the sudden growing mockery from my tone, from thinking of it all. "Times have changed."

She looked at me and closed her eyes—were those tears, or just the glimmer of far-too-bright starlight?

"So much _has _to change. I knew you'd slowly shun me and turn away. I knew that you'd no longer need me some day. I _knew_—"

I stopped myself, afraid that I would get too caught up in my sudden anger. What did all that matter to me now? Here was my daughter, lying on the edge of a cliff that was the line between life and death.

I turned my eyes back down at her frightened face, pale and smudged with blood and earth, hair plastered to the drying blood on the sides of her neck.

And it was true, wasn't it, what I was about to say to her?

"But still…there's one thing that'll never change, Lira." My voice was already quavering as I held my tears back. "I'll always love you, and I still do—from the day you were born…to the day I die."

That, in a way, was a promise. That she would not die before I did. That she would not die tonight.

Lira said nothing. Then I realised that her eyes were shut. Had she even heard me? I wondered, slightly disappointed.

Her voice then came through again, ever so weak, slightly disbelieving. "M…mum, help me—It hurts so much—"

She drew breath between her teeth, and the sound made more tears rise in my own eyes, though she herself did not cry from pain. I recalled when she had once said the same words, and it only made more bitter pangs rise in my throat.

I took my staff from where it now lay by me, my own pain all but forgotten, the pain of my daughter enough to wash it out and replace it. My old promise was echoing in my ears. I had sworn to keep her safe—and I would, despite everything.

A promise, sealed with the Goddess' symbol, never to be broken.

"Don't worry," I replied, as I had seven years ago. "It'll be fine."

Lira's shallow breaths were uneven, dying like whispers in the trees. A gust washed over the field, bringing the sweet scent of the lavenders to hold the two of us close. A reminder of a day in the past, when she had been my beloved daughter, when I had once held her hand and healed her with a simple spell. How similar they were, I suddenly realised.

But this time, it wouldn't take just a simple spell to save her. My staff was rested upon her chest, and I felt light gathering close to my heartbeat, together with my tears and wishes for a better life, for a trace of hope that might never be.

I felt the throb of my wounded legs. I had a choice—it was her, or me. I only had the strength to heal one. And the choice was simple.

"Resurrection," I whispered, and the steady stream of unfaltering light passed, between my body and hers.

Then I could only remember feeling the staff fall out of my hand and the dark sky dimming even more, as I fell to the lavenders and fell asleep within their heavenly scent, transcending the years, and all the changes they had brought—carrying me into resigned recollection.

* * *

Three days later, I opened my eyes. I was on my bed. Had Lira actually done me this favour and taken me home? Hope coursed through me.

I tried to sit up, but as soon as I exerted force on my legs, pain like an axe cleaving my legs tore through my flesh and bones. Screaming, I fell back to my bed. I felt drained. Even without hearing it, I knew that I was crippled for life, beyond healing now.

One of the market stall owners whom I bought from often soon appeared in the cottage. "I found you on the field three days ago," she told me. "You looked horrible! How did you get hurt like that? Tae Roon?"

Inside, I felt crushed. I only nodded weakly, willing my tears not to fall.

My shopkeeper friend took care of me after that, and the unending emptiness lingered. One day, I suddenly asked her to take me to Lira—I can't comprehend why myself. Maybe it would be easier to make up with her now.

We made our way there, my friend supporting my weak side, down the almost-endless mile to Lira's home. I knocked and stood waiting hopefully at the door, sweaty and exhausted. Lira opened the door, and my heart leapt, to see her face once again. But she simply took one glance at me, turned away—angry or hurt—and slammed the door in our faces.

Oh…I feel so horrible, it's hard to describe in words. It leaves me so cold and unhappy, so frustrated, disappointed, just recalling. She closed the door on me, once again.

I never thought that anyone could be completely merciless. I have always believed in that tiny trace of good, even in the most heartless. But now I realise, with a deepening ache in my soul, that I do know someone who is. My own daughter, whom I cared for all her life, who threw my love back in my face.

But I never would give up, would I? I wrote to her a week ago, harnessing that one last tiny dredge of hope that she still held some compassion within her heart. I wish I hadn't.

_"Lira…I miss my real home. Could you take me there one day?"_

I hoped that she would just consider it, for the sake of our lost relationship, seven years ago. I sealed the letter wishfully, and passed it to my friend to be delivered.

The doorbell rang this morning. I still remember how thrilled I was to know that I had received a reply! But when the delivery arrived...—my friend placed the bundle of leaves and flowers in my hands, and everything suddenly died in my heart.

_A bouquet of lavenders._

She knows that I will never behold the field of sweet flowers upon lush green verdure again, never hear the melodies of birdsong that the fading evening sky brings, because I almost killed myself saving her.

And she simply took my longing, turned on me, turned it into pain. Now I'm in tears once more, lying like a broken doll on my mattress. Would a bouquet really suffice to bring me comfort? It's done the opposite. This thing that sits in my hands is nothing but a taunt, a horrible taunt that I cannot answer to, for I have no way. I feel so horrible, it's like I'll die of it…

Goodness. I'm crying again.

No…why? It's just a waste of tears, on something that cannot help. It only blurs everything I see even more, brings me so much doubt. Then why? Why do I keep shedding tears? How I wish I didn't do whatever I did wrong in my life! My tears are falling upon the petals, each one like a broken, fragile butterfly wing, crushed by my hand.

I can't help it—she is my daughter, and my love for her can't change.

All _else _can change, for all I care! No matter how I try to chase it away, it clings to me, something that used to be a blessing, but turned into a curse halfway. I still love my daughter, and that is what brings me all this pain.

Squeezing the bouquet tighter in my fist, I feel the stems and leaves snap and crumple. How much satisfaction it brings, crushing this stupid thing! With it, I somehow feel my soul emptying—losing joy, anger, regret—leaving me void. There is no happiness or redemption in it, but there certainly is _satisfaction._

—Then I feel something hard crumpling like paper in my grip, and pull it out from between the stems. A card in the bouquet. Curious, I hold it up to examine. Wiping my tears away on my sleeve, I notice Lira's neat handwriting all over it. What scornful words has she written there?

No, I'll ignore that stupid piece of card. It will only deepen my pain.

But what more can she say that can give me more pain, anyway?

So I lift it and read.

* * *

…Can this really be?

Word by word, the message on this card reaches into me, holds me stunned, unable even to think. And my heart feels as if it might burst. Is this a dream? Can these really be…her words?

This card, in my very own hands—is the reconciliation that I have waited for so long.

Suddenly, my eyes are stinging again with tears. But these tears hold no hurt. They are tears of joy, so endless, I feel like a leaky tap… Yet it brings me no discomfort—just relief, and gladness, and reassurance. Again, I savour the flowers' scent, more deeply than ever—and how it moves me so…

One moment, and the entire world turned upside-down, all over again. One card—nine paragraphs, and the pain has vanished completely. I never thought I would see this moment, that all that anger and sadness would come to an end…

It can't be true… All along, _I _have been the one who has misunderstood. I was the one who wouldn't accept that she could change. I must write back to her soon, tell her I'm sorry, explain everything—where are my pen and notepad?

I brush the torn petals that lie on my pale bed sheets, guilt and remorse filling my heart as I look upon them, at my heartless cruelty, at my unwillingness to believe that she held any good intentions. That old sense of nostalgia rushes over me like a gale, the scent of lavenders suddenly so poignant and true.

Then a breeze slips through the window, and crosses the room. I sit up, feeling as the coolness brushes across my skin, across the leaves, making them flutter. It parts the curtains, and suddenly, the room is awash with sunlight, the beams painted brilliantly across the glossed floor, bathing the room in gold, its beauty filling my heart…

Ah…the memories are stirring around me again! They are like petals being swept into the air on scented breaths of joyous spring, filling the world with heavenly sweetness and my mind with long-sought peace. And as the aroma and gentle wind come to surround me, I can almost see myself there—I am at home once more, standing among the stalks of sweet blooms, my nine-year-old Lira held securely in my arms. And we gaze, smiling—together—at a bright sky about to dawn.

* * *

Change never changes. Change is a part of the world, inbuilt to the mechanism of the universe—a necessary progression, not always what we desire.

It is something we cannot avoid. She will grow up, become independent, and slowly move away from me. I will never have her in my arms again, for she no longer needs it so, and it will bring her no more joy, though it once did.

She will no longer need my help, and will learn to hold her own in the face of the world. She will depart, and take so much with her—my love, my teaching, my advice—and leave me behind in the dust of age with only regret and longing.

But there is one thing that will never change. Even when she has flown from the nest for a distant shore and seen every corner of the world, we will share the memories that we once forged together, long, long ago—

There, in a little house, just beyond a distant lavender field.

* * *

Dear Mum,

I never knew…

…How do I start?

It was my fault. My anger and desires made me hate everything you did. I wanted to be free, that was all! I never thought I would go that far.

And when you attacked me, I thought…you no longer wanted me. I was shaken. I told you to leave. And it seemed to me that by your compliance, you really wanted me out of your sight for the rest of your life. It left me so afraid, so—insecure—I don't know how to say it.

How often you've saved me in the past. You have always been there for me, ready to heal me, ready to keep me safe. I took it all for granted, until Tae Roon attacked. You weren't there, I suddenly realised then. I'd always depended on you. And this time, without you, I would die.

But there you were once more, when I thought I was going to end for sure.

You lost your ability to walk for me. You even needed someone's help to make it all the way here. I couldn't face you like this, Mum, knowing that I was the cause of all your pain. I turned away from you despite your effort. I never realised it would look so cruel…

_I'm sorry I couldn't take you back home when you wrote to me. Tae Roon's attack left me weak, and I will not be able to walk much for the next few months. But I hope that these lavenders will help you remember a time from long ago, when I wasn't so rebellious—when life was so much more wonderful for us. It is the only way I can bring our home to you. Hope it's enough._

_Oh, and remember, Mum: no matter how many times I have hurt you, how many times I turned you away, how many times I've angered you—_

_I still love you, and that will never change._

_Best wishes for the coming years. I'll be waiting for you always, I promise. I seal it with the Goddess' symbol._

_From your daughter, Lira_

* * *

9 hours! Sigh. Hope someone out there likes it. D:


End file.
